Deeper than all roses
by cassiemortmain
Summary: "The Hour" AU - Written for crystabelshalott for the S/T Secret Santa fic exchange on Tumblr. Sybil and Tom are a pair of crusading TV journalists in 1960s Britain, fighting to uncover the truth about corruption in the society they live in, while denying the truth of how they feel about each other. Then, they uncover an explosive story which changes everything...
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note_

This story was written as part of the Sybil x Tom fandom Secret Santa fic exchange, convened on Tumblr by repmet (thank you for organising it!).

I received a prompt from crystabelshalott as part of that fic exchange. She requested a Sybil x Tom fic set in an AU based on the BBC TV show "The Hour", with our lovely couple as a pair of crusading TV journalists, fighting to uncover the truth about corruption in the society they live in, while denying the truth of how they feel about each other. I love that show, and the protagonists Bel and Freddy, so needless to say I rubbed my hands in glee at the thought of bringing this idea to life. :)

Crystabelshalott - thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy my version of the story you asked for, and I wish you a wonderful Christmas and New Year!

Thank you also to magfreak, who kindly created the fantastic manip I've used as the cover art of this fic.

* * *

><p><em>London, the early 60s<em>

"Stand by, studio. Places please, everyone! Four, three, two, and cue Tony..."

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to 'The Hour'."

Sybil dropped her hand to her side – they were off and running.

"Miss Crawley, Miss Crawley?"

"Yes, Daisy, what is it?" Sybil turned to see her secretary hurrying into the production booth.

"Call for you on line one."

"Thanks. Hello, Mrs Hughes – Sybil here... Yes, we've got it covered. Tom is ready to roll with that story, he got here about fifteen minutes ago."

She listened intently. "Yes, I'll be sure to let you know. Thanks again for the call."

Putting the phone down, she pretended to wipe her brow, smiling at her colleagues. When the head of BBC News called, she always had to be at the top of her game.

The evening's broadcast went smoothly enough, despite Tom's last minute arrival with the key story in his pocket. Sybil wasn't going to let him off scot free, however.

"Well done, everyone, a great show tonight. Tom?"

"Yes?" He had been heading out the door, on his way to the pub, and turned around at the sound of her voice with a rebellious look on his face.

"I hope I don't need to remind you that arriving with five minutes to spare with the lead story isn't acceptable on this programme! If you try that trick again, I'll cut you and drop in a story of a chimpanzee doing something clever."

"Yes, Miss Crawley, sorry, Miss Crawley," he replied in a singsong voice, perfectly calculated to annoy her. Then he gave her a wink, slung his jacket over his shoulder and began walking away.

Just as she was heading back into her office, he stopped, looking back at her with a smile. "Coming for a drink, Mrs Peel?"

She returned his smile and walked down the corridor to take the arm he had offered her. "Only if you're buying, Mr Steed."

* * *

><p><em>"At the Golden Fingerbowl or any place you go<br>You'll meet your Uncle Max and everyone you know..."_

Sybil and Tom were sitting together on a couch by the wall, heads almost touching, deep in conversation. Gwen approached them, waving a bottle of scotch around. "Who needs a little drinkie?"

"I'll have one, cheers," Tom said, clearly not quite sober himself as he held out his glass. He was turning back to Sybil when another man approached her, brown hair brushed back from his face, confident set to his shoulders.

"Can I tempt you, Miss Crawley?"

"Don't mind if I do." They walked out onto the dance floor.

"Now, come on, you've been avoiding me. What do I have to do to get you to take my phone calls?" he asked, swinging her expertly into a tango as the music blared through the smoke.

"That's not true, I'm not avoiding you. I'm just very happy at the BBC, I'm not interested in moving."

"Ah, but you see – it's my job to find the best, and you are the best. What will it take to get you to jump ship and come and join me at ITV?"

"More than you've got to offer, I'm afraid."

He looked into her eyes, smiling. "I'm patient, I can wait."

When Sybil came back to sit down at the end of the dance, Gwen raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

"Who was that man you were dancing with? Quite a dish, my dear."

"You know him, don't you? Tom Bellasis, head of current affairs programming at ITV. He's been trying to get me to take a job there, but I love 'The Hour', I don't want to move."

"Ah ha, that explains a lot. But speaking of Tom," Gwen looked around to check who was listening, "did you see the way _our_ Tom was watching you dancing? If looks could kill! I think he has a little crush on you, sweetie."

Sybil couldn't help blushing. "Don't be absurd! We've been friends forever, but he doesn't have those kinds of feelings for me. Not at all."

Gwen drew on her cigarette and narrowed her eyes as she blew out a stream of smoke. "Say what you like – I know what I saw."

* * *

><p>Thomas Barrow was holding the phone receiver between his ear and his shoulder as he poured himself a drink.<p>

"And she's also involved with... _whom_? Oh my word, this is a tricky one, old chap... Don't worry, I'll do my usual cover up, you'll come up smelling of roses. The BBC won't go near this with a ten foot pole, I'll see to that... Let's talk tomorrow about a statement to the House. Meet me in the lounge at ten."

He put down the phone. A sinuous smile curved his lips as he lit a cigarette. _I'm always the one they call when it's getting really ugly._

* * *

><p>That week's episode of "The Hour" carried a fairly bland statement of goings on in the House of Lords.<p>

"The Secretary of State for War, Lord Merton, has denied any impropriety with the model, Edna Braithwaite, after allegations were made yesterday by an MP in the House of Commons of an affair between the two.

In a personal statement to the House today, Lord Merton, 55, categorically denied the accusations and warned that he would not hesitate to issue writs for libel and slander if the allegations were made outside Parliament.

He said: 'There was no impropriety whatever in my acquaintance with Miss Braithwaite and I have made the statement because of what was said yesterday in the House of Commons by the Honourable Member whose remarks were protected by privilege.'"

* * *

><p>"Miss Crawley? It's Mrs Hughes' office on the line. Mr Barrow is here, and they want to see you." William poked his head around her door.<p>

"Thanks. Any idea where Tom is this morning?"

"Sorry, no. I'm only his assistant, he never tells me anything."

"You should try being his producer!"

They shared a rueful grin. Sybil grabbed her suit jacket and left, smoothing her hair as she took the lift to the top floor.

A quick knock – "Come in... Ah, good morning, Sybil. You know Mr Barrow, of course?"

"Yes, of course. Good morning, Mr Barrow. How are things in Westminster?" They shook hands.

"Going swimmingly, as ever." Thomas' smile didn't reach his eyes. "Mind if I smoke, Mrs Hughes?" Without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lit a cigarette and began to speak.

"Just a routine check in. What kind of Government stories are you planning to run in the next few weeks? I want to make sure we're all on the same page."

Sybil pretended to pause for thought – as ever, she had everything at her fingertips, but there was no need to give away too much too soon.

"Well, let's see. There's a new social welfare Bill coming before the House, we're working on a piece about that and how it will impact everyday families in Britain. We've also heard about a new Defence contract on the Clyde, possible sweetheart deal with the unions, so we're following it up. That's about it, I think."

"Nothing more at this stage, then?"

"No, nothing else of much interest."

"Keep it that way, my dear." Thomas stood up, stretching like a cat. "Must dash, no rest for the wicked." He left the two women looking at each other in confusion.

"What on earth was all that about?"

"I have no idea, Mrs Hughes. I know the Government likes to keep tabs on us, but really I have no idea what he had thought we might be covering."

"Have a word with Tom, will you? He may know something, you know what he's like when he gets wind of a scandal."

"Will do. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you, that's it. Keep me posted." She waved Sybil out.

* * *

><p>"Tom – in here, please."<p>

Tom lifted his head from his desk, where he had been typing furiously, and ran his hand through his thick, fair hair which had fallen onto his forehead.

"Now? Can't it wait? I'm right in the middle..." He stopped, seeing her glare, and stood up to come into her office.

"All right, what's so bloody urgent?"

Sybil closed the door behind him and leaned on her desk, ankles crossed, arms folded.

"Have you heard about any scandals brewing in Westminster? Thomas Barrow was in today, acting very secretive, and it all seemed very fishy to me. I thought you might know something."

"Mmm, maybe. There were some rumours about Lord Merton's statement not being completely kosher. I'll do some digging." He absentmindedly picked up a pencil and started chewing it.

"We need to find out more. The Chief Whip owes you a favour or two, time to call one in."

"OK, I'm onto it. Fancy a drink later?"

"No thanks, I'm meeting someone."

"Oh, a hot date, is it, Mrs Peel?" A cheeky grin curved the corners of his mouth.

"Don't be daft, I'm just meeting a man about a dog." Sybil felt flustered. "Anyway, I don't need to account to you for my movements!"

"All right, then – if you say so. Have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Tom left her office with her pencil in his pocket and a look on his face she couldn't quite explain.

* * *

><p>"OK, everyone! Production meeting will now come to order."<p>

Gwen, sitting up the back chain smoking, banged an imaginary gavel and grinned shamelessly.

"Yes, thank you for the contribution from our illustrious foreign correspondent!" Sybil pretended to frown at her friend.

"Now, what's on the list for this week's show? Tony?"

Tony was leaning back in his chair, legs flung out wide, arms folded behind his head.

"Now, come on, Sybil, I've been a bit busy this week with promo shots and public appearances. Mabel is livid about it, I've missed dinner every night this week one way or another. You can't really expect me to be out there finding stories too!"

"God forbid I should expect you to earn the huge salary you get paid!"

He wagged his finger at her in his most patronising manner. "Now, now, be fair, my dear girl. I can't help it if the British public loves me, can I!"

The "cat that got the cream" smirk on his face infuriated her even more. She turned away from him, trying to hold in her feelings, knowing Tony Foyle was the star of the show and that it was her job to keep the "talent" happy.

"Anyone else? Gwen, how about you?"

"I've been hearing rumours about the Soviets being ready to blast a man into space and beat the Americans, so I'm looking into it. There's also something on the wires about troop movements in Cuba, but I'm not sure what's going on there yet."

"Let's run with the space race piece for now, OK?"

Gwen nodded, lighting another cigarette.

"All right then. Tom?"

"I've got something I'm working on. A bit hush hush for now. Should know more soon." He held a finger to the side of his nose.

"Are you serious? This is the production meeting, nothing's hush hush here!"

"If I told you, I might have to kill you," he deadpanned.

"Really, sometimes I could wring your neck, you're absolutely infuriating! All right, you've got until tomorrow afternoon to brief me in full. In full, mind you!"

He tugged his forelock – "Whatever you say, milady."

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Bugger off."

* * *

><p>Tom was working late that evening when the phone rang.<p>

"Take my advice, Branson. Drop this story, and drop it now, if you know what's good for you. Consider yourself warned. I won't tell you again."

The phone went dead.

* * *

><p>Tom knocked on Sybil's office door late the following night.<p>

"Got a minute?"

"Barely. I'm trying to get ready for a budget meeting in the morning, and these numbers are making no sense."

"It's important, Sybil." For once, there was no joke in his eyes, and she knew he meant it.

"Come in, take a seat."

He sat down, but he couldn't stay still, knee jogging up and down.

"Well, what is it?"

"I've stumbled into Pandora's box with this Merton thing. Christ!" He ran a hand through his hair, and she was surprised to see it shaking.

"What is it? You know you can tell me anything."

He looked up at her, blue eyes troubled, and she felt her heart give a strange, trembling beat.

"It's huge. If we were to break this story, we could lose our jobs. Hell, the entire show could be pulled off the air..."

Sybil crouched down in front of Tom, taking his hand and looking into his face. "That's what we do. That's what you and I have always done together, you know that. Tell the truth, without fear or favour, whatever the consequences. It's our responsibility, Mr Steed."

He lifted his other hand to her face, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, eyes locking with hers. "I know, Mrs Peel. But this... well, it could impact someone close to you, too."

"Who?"

"Your father."

She hesitated a moment. Very few people at the show knew of her connection to the Prime Minister, and she preferred to keep it that way.

"That doesn't matter. Yes, he is my father, but if something is wrong in the government he leads, the people have a right to know. After all, he's accountable to them. That's in the job description."

Tom's hand was still resting on her cheek, warm against her skin. Sybil found herself leaning into his touch for a moment before she realised what she was doing. Then, she broke his gaze and stood up.

He cleared his throat. "OK, here it is, you asked for it. Lord Merton's statement to the House was a lie, and I can prove it. He did have an affair with that model."

"You have evidence for that?"

"Yes, William and I found it. We staked out the girl's flat and got pictures of him with her. But that's not the worst of it."

"There's more?" Her eyes were wide.

"He's not her only lover. We also saw her with Igor Kuragin, the Soviet diplomat and suspected spy."

"Oh, my God! So if Lord Merton told Miss Braithwaite any State secrets..."

Sybil couldn't finish her sentence, thinking of the ramifications of what she had just learned. Tom was right – this was by far the biggest story that had ever come their way.

_This could bring down the Government._

"You need to keep investigating this. We need to bring out the truth of this story."

"Yes, you're right. As usual." He stood up.

As he was walking towards the door, his hand brushed against her hip. Trying to move away from him, she slipped. Instinctively, she grabbed for his shoulder and looked up at him. His arms came around her and that same fluttering beat of her heart made her blush.

An endless moment passed – Tom still holding Sybil, his unfathomable eyes still fixed on hers. This time, it was he who looked down and pulled back abruptly.

They both laughed awkwardly, trying to break the tension.

"So, are we clear on what we are doing?"

"Aye, aye, cap'n." He gave her a mock salute.

"Be careful, won't you?"

"Always."

* * *

><p>Sybil was pacing back and forth in Gwen's office.<p>

"Where the hell is he? It's only half an hour till we go on air. He's meant to be doing this bloody interview with Lord Merton, he set the whole thing up!"

Gwen leaned forward in her chair, pouring herself a drink as she did so. "Don't worry, you know what Tom's like. Sometimes he cuts it a bit fine, but he'll be here!"

"I know, I know. But I've got a bad feeling... Maybe I should brief Tony, just in case."

Sybil poked her head out the door. "Daisy, can you find Tony for me, please?"

"Right away, Miss Crawley."

Tony appeared in a few minutes. "What's up?"

"I might need you to cover this Lord Merton interview. Come with me to my office, I'll talk you through it." Sybil stood up and looked across at Gwen. "Let me know if you hear from him, won't you?"

Forty minutes later, with still no sign of Tom, they were broadcasting live, and ready to go with the interview of the year.

Tony was, as ever, cool and calm as he introduced the story. "We're joined in the studio this week by Lord Merton..."

_Tony can handle this, thank God, but where the hell is Tom?_

A few minutes in, just after Tony had confronted their guest about his statement to the House, the phone rang. Sybil picked it up herself.

"You've got to take this interview off the air. The head of the BBC has pulled the plug. Stop it, stop it now, for goodness' sake!"

"But Mrs Hughes, we talked about this story. This is what 'The Hour' is all about. This is what we do!" She struck the desk with her free hand as she spoke.

"If it were up to me... but it's not. This is way above my pay grade now. Take it off!"

Sybil took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry, but I can't do that. I won't do it. If you want it off, you're going to have to do it yourself."

She put the phone down, with a rueful smile on her face – _There goes my career! _– just as William came racing into the production booth, his face white.

"Sybil! For God's sake, you've got to come with me!"

"What is it? You're scaring me!"

"It's Tom, I just found him outside... he's hurt, badly hurt."

She felt her heart turn over in her chest, and she had to gasp for air – somehow, she'd forgotten how to breathe. Then, without a backward glance, she ran downstairs after William, chanting to herself. _Please God, let him be all right. I will do anything as long as he is all right, please God..._

Sybil found Tom in the car park, lying on his back, badly beaten. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his jaw was bruised and blood was pouring down his face from a cut on his cheekbone. His arm lay at a funny angle, and he was barely breathing.

"Heaven knows what kind of internal injuries he's suffered!" William had knelt at his boss' side.

She barely heard him. "Tom, Tom, can you hear me? Can you hear me?"

No answer.

"William, what happened, what happened to him!" Her face was distraught.

"I don't know, I haven't got a clue. I just found him lying here like this when I popped outside for a breath of air a few minutes ago. Looks like someone dumped him out of a car – see, tyre tracks."

"Has anyone called an ambulance?"

"On the way. Police, too."

Sybil grasped Tom's hand, pressing it to her lips and then her breast, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Tom, please, listen to me. You're going to be all right, I promise. I'm here, I won't leave you, I'll never leave you..."

**To be continued...**

* * *

><p><em>AN -_

Part 2 will come soon, as I don't want to keep you in suspense for too long over Christmas!

A couple of notes:

As you may have guessed, the political scandal at the heart of this story is based on the Profumo affair in the early 60s, where the British Secretary of State for War, John Profumo (in a statement very close to the one I used above), initially denied romantic involvement with a young woman, Christine Keeler, who was also seeing a Soviet naval attaché, Captain Yevgeny Ivanov, at the time. You'll see some of the aftereffects of this scandal in the second chapter of this story.

As mentioned, I love "The Hour", so I kept a couple of the motifs of the show in this story:

- I used the nicknames - Freddy and Bel call each other James and Moneypenny in "The Hour", which I love, so I chose (with help from Mr CM) the lead characters from the 60s British TV show "The Avengers", Mr Steed and Mrs Peel, as nicknames for Tom and Sybil to call each other, as they seemed very much in the same spirit as the original.

- I also used the poem "somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond" by e.e. cummings, which is a part of Freddy and Bel's love story in "The Hour" (check youtube for the video called "Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands" where Freddy quotes it to Bel), as the source of the title of this fic.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note_

Thanks so much for reading/favouriting/reviewing this story - as always, your feedback and support mean more than I can say.:) I'm really glad you've enjoyed this fic so far, and that I have inspired a couple of you to watch "The Hour" (run, don't walk!) after reading it.

Here's the concluding part - apologies it's later than I had planned to post it. Happy New Year, everyone!

* * *

><p><em>An hour earlier<em>

Tom pulled the door to his small flat shut and hurried downstairs. He was heading for the bus stop on the high street when he heard steps behind him.

"Branson, you grubby little oik. You can stop right there."

Someone grabbed his collar and pushed him round the corner into a blind alley, which was deserted. There, he was shoved up against the wall, face pressed into the rough bricks.

"You gutter press never seem to learn your lesson, do you? You should have stayed out of what doesn't concern you." A knee, hard, to the kidneys made him gasp with pain.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Turn him around, let me see his face."

He found himself looking at a tall man with a supercilious smile and dark hair slicked back from his forehead, dressed immaculately in evening wear.

"Hold him."

His arms were grabbed and pulled behind him by the tall man's goons. A fist thudded into his solar plexus, knocking the breath from his body. The second punch made him drop him to his knees, retching.

"Up you get. I'm not done with you."

He struggled to his feet and tried to stand his ground against his unknown assailant, spitting into his face as he was pinned to the wall again.

The other man wiped his cheek with a crisp pocket handkerchief. "You'll be sorry for that, you filthy Irish scum."

Turning to his companions, he jerked a thumb backwards. "You know what to do. Try not to kill him, but don't try too hard on my account."

As Tom fell to the ground under a hail of blows and kicks, the last thing he saw was Sybil's face.

* * *

><p><em>Later that night<em>

Muffled sounds, light flickering through his eyelids. _Am I dead?_

A hand squeezing his. "Tom, Tom, can you hear me?"

Into the void again.

* * *

><p><em>The following morning<em>

Surfacing, as if from the bottom of a deep well. Cool fingers stroking his forehead, a sharp pain on his cheek. Body aching, a deep ache in the very marrow of his bones.

Trying to open his eyes_. _"Mrs Peel..." _Did I say that out loud?_

"Doctor, come quickly! He knows I'm here!" A tear splashing onto his hand.

* * *

><p><em>A few hours later<em>

Tom had learned his eye was swollen shut, which was why he could not see out of it. But he was conscious, sitting up in bed a little and able to talk.

"What happened to you? Can you tell me?" Sybil was sitting by him, on his good side, so that he could see her face.

"It's a bit of a blur. I can remember leaving home, and then I think I was dragged off the street. There may have been two or three of them, I'm not sure."

"We'll find them. The police are already investigating."

"What happened to the interview? Did we do it?"

A pensive look came over her face. "Yes, we did. Tony confronted Lord Merton live on the air. Mrs Hughes tried to pull the plug, but it was too late. The truth was already out. We got it out, you and me. The way we always do."

"What happened afterwards?"

"I don't know." Her voice was shaky, as if she were trying to hold back tears. "I've been with you since William came to get me."

"How long have I been here?"

"More than a day. I thought..." Her voice broke. "I didn't know..." He squeezed her hand.

"Don't cry, Mrs Peel. I'm not going anywhere, not yet anyway. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

* * *

><p><em>Coming up on "The Hour"...<em>

_Lord Merton has been forced to resign from his role as Secretary of State for War, after his explosive appearance on this programme, where he admitted that his statement to the House of Lords had been false, and that he had had an improper relationship with Miss Edna Braithwaite, also the lover of the Soviet diplomat, Igor Kuragin._

_In other news, no charges have yet been laid in the matter of the serious assault of our reporter, Tom Branson. Although police are yet to confirm a link between this crime and the story he broke, we think it's hard to ignore the connection._

_Stay tuned for more, this Friday at 9pm..._

* * *

><p>"God almighty, sweetheart! You look awful," Gwen said as she came into the room the next afternoon.<p>

"You know what lengths I'll go to for a story." Tom did his best to wink but grimaced instead from the pain.

"Next time, maybe don't go to hell and back, OK?" She leaned in to pat him on the hand, then looked around the room. "Is Sybil here?"

"Yes, she's just gone to get coffee." They spoke for a few minutes, then heard the door rattle.

"Speak of the devil! How are you?" Gwen said to Sybil as she came back into the room with a couple of steaming paper cups. "Want to take a break, my dear? I'm happy to sit with Tom for a while, if you want to get a few hours' sleep."

"No, I'm fine, thanks. Especially since I picked up today's paper. Look, Mr Steed, your story is all over the front page!"

"Let's see it then, Mrs Peel."

Sybil sat down by Tom's bed and spread the paper out for him to see. They read the story silently together, occasionally exchanging smiles or reading out a choice sentence to each other.

Looking up after a while, Tom realised Gwen was already gone. Looking back down, he saw his fingers were laced with Sybil's. _When did that happen?_

* * *

><p>Tom was released from hospital a few days later. He made his way out to the street, leaning heavily on Sybil, who had her arm around his waist. Walking was harder than he had expected, and he realised that he had a way to go yet until he was fully healed.<p>

She helped him into a taxi, then sat down beside him. Leaning forward, she spoke to the driver.

"Kensington, please."

"Sybil, what are you..."

"I'm not leaving you at home alone, not in this state. You're coming to stay with me for a bit."

"But..."

"No buts. I'm taking care of you and that's that."

He subsided. "Thanks, actually I'd like that. I'm not sure whether I'm up to much on my own just yet."

She grinned at him. "What are friends for? I'll settle you in and then pop into the office for a bit. I want to find out if I've been fired yet."

"Is that likely?"

"Well, considering Mrs Hughes ordered me to take the story off the air and I refused, I'd say it's practically a certainty!" She tapped on the glass. "This is fine, thank you."

"If you go, I go. I won't let you take the blame for this without me, I dragged you into it in the first place."

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, OK?"

* * *

><p>As Sybil was pouring the tea, they heard a knock on her door. She quirked a <em>"who's that?"<em> eyebrow at Tom.

"Better go and open it, hadn't you? I hear that's the best way to answer that question."

"Oh ha ha, you're so damn funny, aren't you? You must be feeling better!"

She turned the key in the lock to find Mrs Hughes outside.

"Can I come in? Tom, how are you?"

"Bearing up, as they say, thanks for asking."

"I want to speak with both of you, really." Sybil gestured to the easy chair by the little electric heater. Their boss sat down, clearly and unusually ill at ease.

"Cup of tea?"

"Any chance of something stronger?"

Sybil slopped a finger of whisky into a glass and Mrs Hughes took a sip. "I don't really know where to start!"

"Perhaps with giving us the sack?"

She smiled and slowly shook her head. "That's not why I'm here. Yes, you did disobey me, Sybil, but given what's happened since then, senior management had no choice but to recognise they'd been wrong, trying to take the story,_ your_ story, off the air."

Sybil and Tom looked at each other, then back at Mrs Hughes.

"I'm here to see how you are, Tom, and to see if there's anything the BBC can do for you, to help you recover. Medical expenses, treatments, whatever you need. You were injured in the line of duty, and we look after our own."

"Thanks. I'm all right at the moment, but I've got quite a mountain to climb."

"I know you do, young man, and I want to help you climb it." She smiled fondly at him. "Have the police any suspects yet?"

"Nothing concrete, but they're following a few leads."

"I'm glad that you are staying with Sybil – you need someone with you, especially after a bad head injury like that one."

"Don't worry. I'll look after him." Sybil's voice was clear and firm.

"I know you will. Come back to work when you can, take all the time you need." Mrs Hughes stood up. "Well, I should leave you to it, Tom – you look all in."

"Thank you for coming by, I appreciate it."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do. Anything at all." She let herself out.

* * *

><p>Tom's healing was slow, but every day, with Sybil at his side as much as possible when she wasn't working, he felt stronger, his bruises slowly healing, his broken bones beginning to mend.<p>

After a week or so, he felt ready to go into the office for a visit, to reassure the rest of the team that he really was still alive.

He walked slowly into the newsroom, leaning on Sybil's arm, and he was surprised when they broke into a round of applause, singing "For he's a jolly good fellow". Smiles beamed from all round the room and a slice of cake on a paper plate was put into his hand.

Daisy was the first one to step forward. "I'm so pleased you're all right, Mr Branson. We were ever so worried about you."

"Thanks Daisy, that's very kind."

William's normally serious face was split by a huge grin. "Good to have you back." He reached out to shake Tom's hand, his grin slightly quenched when he realised the other man's right arm was in a sling.

"Thank you so much for raising the alarm that night. Sybil told me all about it. If it hadn't been for you, William... well, thanks."

William blushed and looked down. "I'm just glad I found you when I did."

Gwen rested her hand on Tom's shoulder and put a chair behind his knees, letting him sink gratefully into it.

"Have the police got any suspects yet?" Tony chimed in.

Tom spoke through a mouthful of surprisingly good cake. "Not yet. The problem is, I really can't remember much about the attack. I think, well it has to be something to do with the story, but as to who... there are some possible leads but it's a slow process."

"I'll do what I can – got a few contacts of my own you know, old man. See if I can sniff anything out."

"Thanks Tony. Anything you can do would be great."

Sybil put her hand on his while they all caught up on the news. "Come on, Tom, you've had enough for today. I'm taking you home." She squeezed his fingers in hers.

He nodded, thanking her with his eyes before turning to the rest of the team. "I'll be back before you know it. Keep the desk warm for me, William, won't you?"

"Yes, boss!"

* * *

><p>Tom woke up on the couch in Sybil's front room, feeling her hand on his cheek.<p>

"Tom, what is it? You were shouting something in your sleep. Were you having a nightmare?"

A thought crackled into his hazy mind like a lightning flash through a storm cloud. "I think I remembered something about the attack. Something in my dream really happened, I'm sure of it."

"What's that?"

He sat up and she moved beside him, turning on the side lamp. The concern written on her face was clear.

"The man who was leading the attack. He was tall, dark hair slicked back – and he said something about 'messing with his private affairs'."

He wasn't expecting her to go white and bite her lip. "Oh my God! How could I have been so blind!"

"What is it?"

"I think I know who it was. Did you know Lord Merton has a son, about your age?"

"No, don't think so. I didn't look into his family."

She shuddered. "Horrible man, I've known him since I was a girl. He used to fancy me, back in the day, but as for me..." She didn't finish her sentence, her meaning crystal clear.

"You really think..." A vision came into his mind of a blinding white shirt front. "He was in evening dress! He looked as if he was on his way to one of those fancy clubs on Pall Mall, after teaching the lower class upstart a lesson."

Sybil looked at Tom, eyes wide and sparkling with tears. "That's him, that's got to be Larry Grey. I knew he was capable of... but this! We have to tell the police, straight away, they have to arrest him."

"We will, first thing in the morning. He'll keep, don't you worry."

A tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh Tom, I'm so sorry. Larry knew I worked at 'The Hour', he probably put two and two together to find you. It's my fault you were attacked." She gasped out a sob.

"Don't be silly, it's not your fault, don't say that. It was him, the posh git, all him. Nothing to do with you."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Mrs Peel."

That made her smile through her tears, as he had intended.

"Well, as long as you are sure, Mr Steed. Now, how about a cup of tea since we're awake?"

* * *

><p><em>Coming up on "The Hour"...<em>

_The son of Lord Merton, the Honourable Laurence Grey, has been arrested as a suspect in the assault of our reporter, Tom Branson. At this stage, the police are following no other leads, saying they are "confident" they have the right man._

_In other news, the Prime Minister, Lord Grantham, has been forced to face a motion of no confidence in his government tonight, following the revelations of what is already being called "The Merton Affair". Although the motion was narrowly defeated, Lord Grantham was clearly shaken as he left the chamber after the vote, ushered away by his press ___attaché_, Thomas Barrow. How long can the government continue to withstand this kind of pressure?_

__Stay tuned for more, this Friday at 9pm...__

* * *

><p>"Open up, for heaven's sake! Let me in at once!"<p>

From his refuge in the bathtub, Tom heard banging on the front door, followed by someone storming into Sybil's tiny sitting room.

"What on earth do you think you were doing? How could you do this to me?" The voice made no attempt to hide the fury the speaker was feeling.

"Dad, really – I didn't do it to you. I did it to the government. Lord Merton was clearly putting national security at risk, I had a duty..."

"Don't give me that duty nonsense. You should have come and talked to me about it, quietly. I would have dealt with it, you know that!"

"That's not the point! The truth had to come out. We were just doing our jobs." She seemed to be trying to defuse her father's anger, to no avail.

"'We'? Oh, you mean you and that so-called journalist, Tom Branson, I suppose? How you can associate with a man like that, I'll never know."

"A man like _what_? A man of integrity, honour, principle? Ten times, twenty times the man Larry Grey will ever be? I'm proud to have him as a colleague and a friend."

"Friend?" Lord Grantham nearly spat out the word. "Sybil, I wasn't born yesterday. He's been seducing you, manipulating you into doing what he wants, hasn't he?"

"Give me some credit for knowing my own mind!" Tom could just imagine the way Sybil's eyes would have flashed at that remark – he'd been on the receiving end of her rage before, and it could be an intimidating sight. "And he hasn't seduced anyone. Not that it's any of your business, I'm a grown woman in case you've forgotten."

"You must give me your word, now, that you'll have nothing more to do with the man. Can you promise me you'll never see him again?" Lord Grantham's tone showed how accustomed he was to being obeyed, but he was doomed to disappointment this time. _At least, I hope so..._

"I will not give him up! You have no right to tell me what to do. I will spend time with whomever I choose." Her voice became ice-cold, and the steel in her tone was fiercer than her white-hot anger a moment before.

"I warn you, young lady. You'll regret this!" The Prime Minister slammed the door behind him.

Tom put his head around the bathroom door a few minutes later, wearing his dressing gown over his pyjamas, a towel draped around his neck. "Safe to come in here? Should I look out for flying objects?"

Sybil grinned back at him. "I can handle my father."

He sat down on the couch, lifting her feet into his lap and starting to massage them. "I never doubted it."

"Ohhh, that's good, you can come here more often." She looked at him, and the look lingered for a beat too long. He saw a rosy blush race up her cheeks as she pulled her legs back underneath her nightgown, breaking the contact between them.

After a few minutes, he got up to put the kettle on. "Speaking of which, I was thinking that I should really move home again. I'm getting better now, even the doctor says so, and I can manage on my own. I've put you out for long enough."

"Are you sure? There's no hurry, honestly."

"I know. You've been so good to me, better than I deserve. No-one could have been sweeter." _No-one ever has_.

A shaft of moonlight broke through the window, lighting up the darkening room, letting him see her clearly. Their eyes met and locked and - _At last!_ - neither of them looked away.

When she asked him about it later, he couldn't define the impulse that made him lean towards her and put his hand on her back, bringing her to him. All he knew was that nothing had ever felt so right, so _necessary_.

The kiss was soft and sweet, the touch of her lips healing, an unlooked-for blessing. "Mmmmm..." he heard himself moan. She moved nearer, putting her arms around his neck.

When they broke apart, he smiled at her. "I've been wanting to do that for the longest time." He lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked it, wishing his other arm wasn't in a cast.

She put her hand on top of his. "What took you so long!"

Another kiss, longer and more intimate than the first one, his head starting to spin. After several minutes, he pulled gently away from her.

"When I heard you tonight with your father, I wondered... the way you defended me like that. If you hadn't cared, you wouldn't have... Anyway, what I'm trying to say... Christ, I'm making a mess of this. Must be the blow to the head!"

He held her eyes with his. "Oh my darling, I do love you, so much. Always have, always will. You're the one for me, Mrs Peel."

"I love you too, Mr Steed." He'd never seen anything as lovely as her face in that moment, glowing with an almost unearthly beauty.

Clearing his throat, he began speaking, then hesitated. "Can I ... can I stay here with you, for good? I promise to devote every waking minute to... _mmppphhh._"

He didn't finish his sentence as she slid into his lap and crushed his mouth with hers. He felt silver sparks flying across his skin as her hand came up to stroke the back of his neck, one kiss turning to many.

Her full breasts pressed into his chest through the thin cotton of her nightgown as he tightened his arm around her waist. Feeling her warm body straining to get closer to his made the blood race through his veins in a way he'd never experienced before. Exhilarating, addictive, life affirming.

For a good while after that, time was lost for Tom - he was soaring into the endless, gleaming sky, a sky scattered with stars put to shame by the shine in Sybil's blue-grey eyes.

This time, when they separated, they were breathless, ecstatic. He tried to get up and carry her to the bedroom but he had to sit back down, groaning in pain this time.

"Sweetheart, there's nothing more I want now that to take you to bed and make love to you all night, but I don't think I can until I have fewer broken bones. Will you wait?" He smiled ruefully, touching her chin with the tip of his finger.

The loving look she gave him told him all he needed to know. "I'd wait forever."

**The end**

* * *

><p><em>AN -_

This was pretty much how the Profumo Affair I mentioned in part 1 played out. In the end, the scandal forced Harold Macmillan, the Prime Minister, into early retirement and was thought to have contributed to the Conservative Government he had led suffering defeat in the 1964 general election.


End file.
